The Only Real Injury Was Having to Listen to that Annoying Pathfinder Song

It was questionable whether or not I would be able to lead a group of teenagers unguided down Class II and III rapids today, but we made it.  Without injuries!

I credit our success to the captain of our raft, Pastor Michael.  I may have been the only other adult on the raft, but I was by no means qualified to be a captain.  I’m the small girl who always has to move around to “balance weight” and is the first to get thrown from the raft.  Thankfully, this didn’t occur until after we had crossed the Class III Nantahala Falls.  

After about two hours on the river, we beached our raft on a manmade embankment and got out to scout the falls.  They’re close enough that a group can abandon their raft and walk back to the rental area, but we successfully convinced the one doubtful teenage girl that we would be just fine, that no one would fall out, and that if she did, we would immediately get her back in.  We also prayed!

It was immediately after the Class III rapids (that we successfully navigated almost without getting wet…basically, because we’re awesome), when we were literally 200 yards from our docking site that we got stuck on a rock.  The raft lost its balance, and well, so did I.  The water was shallow, however, and I could have walked to the shore from that point.  I let my group have the satisfaction of pulling me in, however.   I hear they had to do the same thing with my editor last year and I understand the importance of traditions.

Why I Preached in Flip-Flops

With a sweet smile on her rosy-cheeked face, Marie* approached me after yesterday morning's devotion.

“Can I ask you who’s in charge of the music?,” she asked.

Her request was so polite and her demeanor so sincere that I just presumed that she wanted to make a request or even ask to sing herself for the evening’s meeting. 

“You know, I’m not really sure,” I told her.  “Let’s ask Pastor Tim.”

After a few more consultations with staff, it soon became apparent that her inquiry wasn’t about becoming more involved at all.  It was about the drums.  And her discomfort. 

Pastor Mike, who is in charge of the youth division, apologized and we all thanked her for her honesty.  At our staff meeting later that day, however, the decision was unanimous that the youth band was great and we were making no amendments.

This is the band in question, minus the vocalists, during their practice this morning.  I will try and get a picture when they are actually performing, but I'm usually spazzing and praying that I don't humiliate myself (and God) when I get up to preach right afterwards.  The clothesline/pins are where they hang their prayer requests as part of the morning devotions.

Then, the evening meeting started. 

I somehow missed the organized protest of 20 youth who got up and walked out, but let me tell you, the other leaders did not.  In fact, soliciting the attention of all but two of us (and one of us was preparing to preach at the time!), they continued to loudly complain about “the drums, the guitars, and the girls strutting their stuff up there [referring to the vocalists]” right outside of the meeting room.  Their ringleader was a sixty something year old conservative Adventist who also managed to wrangle the conference president (who was conveniently walking by during “the protest”), the division president, and a few other important people into the conversation.

For an hour after our evening meeting let out, the leaders discussed what the appropriate course of action should be.  Our division leader, Stanley (the same one who invited me to speak), was adamant that not only was there nothing inappropriate about the current praise team, but that we were not about to amend our current program based on the complaint of one group.  Also, the protesters have been complaining since their group of home schoolers was in the primary division (for ages 7-9).

As leaders, we made the unfortunate mistake of allowing the praise team to be present during the first half of our meeting.  The ultimate resolution was, of course, to allow them to continue, but the hurt expressions on their faces revealed what we all knew:  the protesters had missed the whole point of worship.  

By focusing on the fact that a (muted!) drum was being played and two guitars were accompanying the piano, they failed to notice that almost 100% of the youth present were engaged in worship.  They were singing loudly and were experiencing God.  Outside of the worship meeting, while staging “the protest,” those twenty youth were not.

I had just returned from my sister’s place in Asheville before this meeting and was so rushed that I didn’t get a chance to change out of the black pants, casual top, and flip flops I was wearing.  I am the child of a West Indian mother, so you can imagine the horror I experienced not preaching in a suit—much less in flip-flops!  And, of course, it would be this night that Stanley stopped by to hear me and then, had me sit next to him during the hour long staff meeting.  (I was blissfully ignorant of “the protest” while preaching, by the way. I noticed that the leaders only came in for the last ten minutes, but I didn’t know where they had been until afterwards.)

Worship is so much more than the way we express ourselves or the way that we look, though.

Tonight, after I was already dressed in one of the five suits I brought to preach in, I thought about why I felt compelled to wear it. I knew that not only did I have a better time preaching in flip-flops, but the only reason I really thought I should wear the suit was in case a conference official happened to walk by and notice how snazzy I looked.  Then, maybe I’d earn more credibility and get invited back—maybe to do something bigger.  Nobody else would really care.  I mean, the kids are running around in shorts and t-shirts and so are the other leaders (including me, during the day!).

I wasn’t invited here based on the way I dress or anything I do in or of myself, though. I was invited on the merit of God working through me and absolutely nothing else. So, I hastily flung my suit onto my hotel room bed and changed into a pair of black slacks with a simple dressy shirt and heels. It was in this attire that I knew I was more approachable and that the focus was unmistakably on Jesus–not on me. Besides, even after the flip-flops, Stanley was in attendance for the second consecutive night.

My family's family.  (See how I was slick, so we didn't have to do that description again?)  I'm sorry this picture is blurry!  I didn't realize it when we took it.

*Marie was not actually one of the "protesters."  I realized that was not clear after I finished writing this.  She just happened to complain on the same day.  Thankfully, she was a lot more tactful.  And appropriate.

I Already Know Delinquency is Unattractive, So Don't Tell Me Again in the Comments

Sunday: 

No Morning Devotional
Breaking Up is Hard to Do  (Starting a Relationship Foundation in Jesus) 

Monday: 

God's Cell Phone Number (Jeremiah 33:3)
What Do They See In You? (Being the Right Person)

Tuesday: 

Our Intercessor, the Holy Spirit (John Ch. 15)
Princesses Don't Date Gangstas (What We Should Be Looking for in a Partner--Character) 

Wednesday: 

Listening to the Silence (Psalm 23)
WWJD:  Who Would Jesus Date?  (On Dating Non-Adventists)

Thursday: 

White water rafting!  (No morning devotional or sermon.)  Incidentally, I am supposed to chaperoning eight minors UNGUIDED down some river.  I have been white water rafting all of ONCE.  I think we should pray.

Friday: 

The Power of Prayer (James 5:16)
Not Tryin' to Be a Baby Momma  (Appropriate Behavior Before and During a Relationship)

Saturday: 

The Prayer of Jabez (1 Chronicles 4:10)
Can't Turn a Harlot into a Housewife (Letting Go of Past Mistakes and Starting Over)

Some People Treat Me Like a Rockstar, But They're 15. And Home-schooled.*

With arms laden with two notebooks, my Bible, and the change of clothes I took to Asheville today, I slammed the passenger car door behind me.  As I pressed the remote of my sister’s car and heard the beeping of the locking mechanism, three darkened figures yelled to me from the second floor balcony of the hotel that faced the parking lot.

“Shaaayynaa!!!” 

Caught of guard, I waved hello back and shouted that I’d be up soon.  Fleetingly, I entertained the thought of my poor sister’s car getting vandalized and then, lamented not having chosen a less conspicuous parking space.

A few minutes later, I stopped on the second floor to talk to the kids about living in Washington, DC and running the half marathon (something I mentioned in last night’s sermon).  Inside the lobby, before I could make it to the elevator, four more teens wanted to know who I was backing in tonight’s NBA game, which was playing on a TV set in front of them.  (Every night, I start the meetings by answering their questions--personal or otherwise.  Last night, I answered someone’s question about who I was supporting in the night's game...Pistons over Celtics.)

I always wondered why my editors refused to stay at the host hotel at conferences.  Very quickly, however, I learned that when you do, it takes approximately two hours to navigate your way from meetings to your hotel room.  And, almost always, you have to be looking magazine quality when doing so:

 I don't know if I'd call this "magazine quality," per se, but in comparison to the pictures below, it's a whole lot better.  I snapped this in my room just before I left to speak yesterday afternoon.  Here in the woods, we still have showers and electricity.  THANKFULLY.

Yesterday, I bravely ran/walked the 5.6 miles around the lake (the front desk said the trail was 2.8 miles and I did it twice).  Then, I fearfully returned to my hotel room looking like this:

 I didn't bother to crop this picture better, so the hot mess factor would be minimized.  Umm...you're welcome.

Those little black things you see would most certainly not be freckles.  Those are BUGS that got stuck to me as I ran around the lake.  How I actually endured this occurrence is beyond me...just looking at this picture makes me cringe.

In all seriousness, however, I really do love my job and I relish the moments sitting in the lobby arguing about who’s going to win game four, or on the boardwalk like last night.  In the darkness, one of the girls who attended the meeting stopped me to ask about witnessing to atheist friends.  I prayed with her and before raising her head, there was a noticeable pause.  It was the kind of pause that happens when you know you've touched someone in such a profound way that they actually have to stand still, lest they disrupt the moment with their tears.    

It’s those times when kids really get to know you and hopefully, Jesus through you.  Moments on the boardwalk, on the balcony, and in the lobby are the reason I put up with the ridiculous pay, sometimes questionable accommodations, and political garbage.  Ultimately, it’s about reaching them—and nothing else.

*I, by no means, intend to make fun of home-schoolers.  I'm just illustrating the limit of my fame and sphere of influence, lest you actually think that people recognize me on the street or something.  I assure you, they don't.

It's Not the Hilton, But You Can't Beat the View

I should have known not to have unrealistic expectations about Lake Junaluska.  I was impressed by the existence of hotel facilities located at the camp, though.  When my host pastor, Michael, mentioned our first meeting would be at the “Health Center,” I was certain that everything would be completely fine.  (If possible, I don’t travel to hotels that don’t have gyms or room service.  There.  Now you know.  Don’t judge me.)

My sister and her husband--the crazy outdoor enthusiasts---make fun of me because I am apparently “a city person.”  I do prefer the culture and pulse of the city, being surrounded by people, and sometimes, I get a queasy, helpless feeling when I’m too far away from civilization. 

I didn’t grow up camping and even though I was a wandering little kid who ran around and played with bugs, I’m not a big fan of tents, lack of showers, or having no occasion for heels as an adult.  The first time I went away to Camp Kulaqua (Seventh-day Adventist camp in High Springs, FL) when I was 14, I stayed in a two story mini- lodge with carpet and air conditioning.  Any grime could be easily disposed of in one of the two bathrooms that was professionally cleaned every day. 

Today, however, I almost had to fight tears when the front desk told me that there were no indoor workout facilities at Lake Junaluska.  Apparently, I have to go for a run around the lake if I want exercise.  As if people still do that.

Since the classmates and I decided we’re running the Virginia Beach Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon in September, I suppose there are worse fates that could have befallen me here.  Like the time at Camp Kulaqua when some girl I had to share the mini lodge with stole my towel.  I had a flashback moment yesterday when my sister and my mother were driving away and referenced the frantic phonecall made eleven years ago demanding that my mother, “COME AND GET ME RIGHT NOW!  I DON’T CARE IF YOU HAVE TO DRIVE FOUR HOURS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME?!” 

I jokingly assured her yesterday,

“I’ve got cable TV, wireless internet, and a cell phone this time.  I just might make it."

The pavilion where I speak is the one here, on the water.  That is a swimming pool bordering the lake.  Yes, there is a swimming pool and I realize I have no occassion to be whining.

I’m also a semi-important invited speaker, so I get a hotel room with this view: